Sick Leave
by YukiSkye
Summary: Freud has finally done it. He's overworked himself to the point of ill health. But good thing Phantom is there to take good care of him! PxF or close friendship


Decided to go for something a little more light-hearted. Fwuff ahead. Be warned :V

* * *

Afrien had woken that fateful morning feeling slightly disoriented and queasy.

He could sense something was wrong. Freud's consciousness felt distorted somehow and it felt nothing like the faint wisps that suggested sleep. When he failed to contact his partner through their link, he quickly alerted the nearest available person he could find to check up on him, which was how Phantom found Freud passed out on the floor of his study for goodness knows how long.

He quickly carried his unconscious friend to his bed, checking him over to make sure he was alive and well.

He was certainly alive but he was definitely not well.

Freud was running an alarmingly high temperature.

Panicked, Phantom rushed to soak some washcloths in cold water to cool him down, nearly tripping over himself to do so.

He draped a damp cloth over his head before running into the study, upending a bucket sitting in one corner of the room of its rolled-up documents and hurrying into the bathroom to fill it with water, dumping in any other washcloth and rag he could find around the house into it to ensure a steady supply.

He strode back into Freud's room and placed the bucket by the bedside, checking over him once more before heading back into the study and throwing open the window.

Out of one of his cards, he fashioned a messenger raven and sent it to fetch Afrien so he could keep an eye over Freud.

Returning to the mage's side, he pulled up a chair and stared down at the still form of his friend, feeling a mix of worry and upset frustration.

How was it possible that Freud could be so smart yet still be dumb enough to overwork himself to this state? He had nearly given him a heart attack when he first discovered him unconscious on the floor. Thank goodness he wasn't on the ladder when he collapsed!

Phantom's exasperation quickly melted into concern at Freud's labored breathing and he reached to remove his headband, running a gentle hand soothingly over his auburn hair.

A moment later, his messenger raven sped back into the room, croaked once, and then disappeared in a shower of gold and red sparks.

Phantom stood from his seat and made his way out the front door where Afrien awaited him.

_What has become of my master? _he asked calmly.

"He's fallen ill," Phantom informed shortly, frowning.

Afrien seemed relieved at the news but no less worried.

_Perhaps we should inform the others and seek help_, he suggested, looking towards the direction one of their other allies were located.

"No," Phantom immediately declined. "Freud doesn't like anyone seeing him weak and no one has _ever_ seen him weak. It'd throw them in for a loop and they'd be useless gaping around wondering what to do now that they realize that Freud is, in fact, human," he reasoned, his tone slightly deprecating.

Afrien peered at him with one large golden eye. _Then are you suggesting that _you_ be the one to care for him?_

"Yes."

Afrien hummed thoughtfully. _Very well. I shall entrust my master's health to you then. But if things go beyond your capabilities, seek help. _

Phantom nodded. "I'll be sure to take care of him."

_I shall be nearby if you ever need me_.

And with that Afrien lumbered away and Phantom went back inside to seek out supplies that might be needed.

If he wasn't mistaken, Freud should have a medicine cabinet somewhere in his house.

He made his way through the entrance hall and down the set of stairs leading to the door to the basement located beneath the staircase to the second floor where Freud's laboratory—doubled slightly as a basic medical room—resided.

He put a hand to the door to unlock the safety spells and barriers which recognized him as authorized personnel and immediately upon opening, the large room lit automatically with rows of warm, yellow light to reveal stone walls and wooden floorboards marred by faint scorch marks. A worn counter ran along the right side of the room on top of which sat an array of various objects ranging from simple tools to magical artifacts. Numerous glass containers, beakers, and bottles holding chemicals and samples of specimens were littered throughout the surface along with the intermittent pages of notes strewn about.

Neatly arranged into rows were several long tables in much the same state as the counter, holding half-finished experiments and research materials.

Lining the wall on the left was an impressive row shelves crammed with folders, books, complex-looking instruments the functions of which eluded his grasp, and an assorted range of even more miscellaneous objects tucked neatly into storage with the more delicate or time extensive experiments requiring special conditions locked behind glass cabinets.

At the end of the row of shelves at the back of the room was a makeshift bed with a desk and chair set a few feet away next to which was the medicine cabinet.

Brightening at the sight, he made his way over and opened the cabinet doors but frowned when he realized he didn't know what illness was inflicting Freud.

He sighed at his own short-sightedness. Freud's condition was upsetting him more than he thought but he supposed it didn't matter. He couldn't exactly ask anyone to see him as he was now so he rummaged through the medicine inside until he found the bottles that seemed relevant. One for fever, one for headaches, one for coughing, one for nausea; general medication until he could find out more about Freud's symptoms and figure out what he was sick with.

But what if this was more serious than that? He found Freud passed out on the floor for crying out loud! Could he really put the health of his friend in jeopardy for the sake of his dignity?

He could always get his doctor to look at Freud and swear him to secrecy about this (not that he would tell anyone anyway; he was loyal) but what if that broke his trust? But Freud would understand if he explained it right?

Troubled by the dilemma presented before him, he wandered back into Freud's room to deposit the medicine in his hands only to find that his friend was now awake and struggling to sit up.

He rushed over to Freud, quickly setting down the bottles on the nightstand, and attempted to cease his progress.

"Freud! Stop! You're unwell!"

Freud turned feverish eyes towards Phantom, not quite seeing the man in front of him.

It was… unbearably hot as though he were trapped inside an insulated greenhouse.

An uncomfortable feeling of nausea assaulted him in waves, ebbing and flowing through him like the tide and his stuffed head, woozy with some kind of immense pressure, worked busily to quell the stomach-churning sensation.

Everything blurred together and moved as though in molasses.

He stared at the… someone… familiar… Who? He… knew… Name… Name… Phan… Phantom. He was saying... something but… sound was… muffled.

He stared at the frantic motion of his lips, struggling to focus on the words but his mind kept wandering and his nausea was spiking again and oh what happened?

He struggled feebly against the hands keeping him down. He was… doing… something… something… important… What? Searching… He was… searching… for…

Oh… Oh!

He bolted upwards, fighting to get back.

"Work… My… work!" he gasped. "Need … Ambiquetes… Th'ry of… of… Sum… ral…"

"Freud!" Phantom snapped, pushing him back forcibly and pinning him onto the bed. He glared down at the downed scholar. "You are sick and you're worrying about _work?_"

"Need it or else… or else… something…?" Freud rambled under his breath, looking dazed and confused.

Phantom's eyes softened at the sight of his obviously suffering friend laboring for breath and struggling for coherency.

"Rest, Freud. There is nothing you can do in your state. Surely you can see that even in your condition," Phantom murmured coaxingly, gently carding his fingers through Freud's hair.

Freud relaxed under the soothing touch.

It felt nice… He was still queasy and unbearably uncomfortable but… it was comforting, this presence…

His eyes slid shut once again as he drifted off into the blackness of an uneasy sleep, a blissful respite from the illness taking its toll on his body and mind.

He awoke staring blearily at the beams of his wooden ceiling with a mild headache pounding at his skull, still feeling much less than optimal but definitely better than earlier.

"Ah, I see you're awake," a bright voice observed.

Freud turned his head to his left to find Phantom sitting on a chair by his bedside, a novel in his hands which he was just putting aside.

"Good afternoon sunshine," he chirruped.

"Phantom?" he croaked weakly.

Phantom dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. "The one and only at your service. How are you feeling?"

Freud frowned in confusion. "Better… Why—"

"Am I here? Are you in bed? _Did I find you collapsed on the floor of your study?_" Phantom prompted, a slight edge entering his voice at the last suggestion.

Freud faltered slightly as he looked into violet eyes boring unrelentingly into him, hard with underlying concern. "I… apologize for having worried you and—"

"No, Freud," Phantom cut in sharply. "Don't avoid the issue. You were working yourself dry, never giving yourself even a moment's pause to rest and now it's culminated into this." He gestured towards the bedridden Freud. "What would you have done if this illness were more serious? Or if you had hurt yourself when you collapsed? Or if Afrien hadn't detected something wrong when he did? You could have been dying and no one would've known until someone decided to come by much later when you're already beyond the point of saving! How do you think Afrien would feel? How do you think _I _would have felt? What would we do then? Why did you ever _think_ it was a good idea to go about your work the way you were? You must have known you'd end up like this! You would've felt it! How could you push yourself even when you knew you were unwell? And for what? What benefit does this serve anyone? Well?" he demanded, daring him to explain himself.

"I'm sorry for having concerned you to this extent, Phantom," Freud apologized tiredly, doing his best to push the words through his still-clouded mind. "But please, try to understand that this is something I must do. The Black Mage waits for no one. Every day that passes is another day we lose hundreds of people in this war. Every minute I waste is another minute he grows stronger and he will continue to grow regardless of my state; whether I'm healthy, incapacitated, or dead, it matters not."

"So you're saying your own well-being doesn't matter?" Phantom exploded.

"I must admit… it wasn't the utmost thing on my mind."

"No, because apparently it's your work," Phantom snapped crossly.

Freud sighed as his headache peaked painfully and he closed his eyes against a sudden sensation like that of the world tilting sideways. "Phantom, please…"

Phantom immediately quelled. "I'm sorry. I'll drop it for now. Here, I brought some medicine for you. Does your head hurt? You're still running a fever," he said gently, his tone apologetic as he felt Freud's forehead.

"I still feel… warm. Headache and nausea…"

"I brought you some medicine for that. I didn't know what you were sick with so I only brought the ones for symptoms," Phantom explained apologetically as he helped Freud sit up propped against his pillows before opening one of the bottles on the nightstand.

"That's okay… It's not anything big… at the very least, not anything life-threatening. I'll be fine…" Freud said, taking the medicine given to him in spoonfuls.

"I would hope so," Phantom muttered, pouring the headache medicine into the spoon.

"Afrien should feel it if my life were in danger so there's no need to worry, Phantom," Freud assured, giving him a small smile.

Phantom relaxed slightly at that, returning the smile with a small affectionate one of his own. "I think you should be worrying about yourself instead of worrying about me."

Freud chuckled weakly. "I suppose so."

"Do you need anything? Something to drink or to eat? I think it's important to stay hydrated and you need to eat something to keep your strength up," Phantom decided, standing from his seat.

Freud cast him an amused look. "So why bother asking if I didn't have a choice to begin with?"

"Courtesy," his friend replied simply, grinning cheekily. "I'll be right back. If you need anything, just toss this into the air. My raven will get me for you," he said, tapping a card lying face down on the nightstand.

"All right. Thank you, Phantom."

Phantom waved him off. "Of course. It's a given for me to help you."

With one last smile, he exited the room to retrieve a meal and some water, leaving Freud to his own devices for the time being.

A glimpse out the window to his right revealed a bright sunny sky with a few puffy clouds floating leisurely along. A glance at the wall clock at the back of the room said that it was two in the afternoon. He has been out for quite a long time.

He smoothed out his sheets, trying to ignore the heavy, uncomfortable feeling of sickness that's settled all over his body.

He hadn't meant to get sick. He thought he could hold out for just a bit more before he took a day off… Of course that's what he kept telling himself every time he finished another piece of his research but he never did actually take a day off to rest.

Guilt wormed its way up his chest as he thought back to how frantic Phantom had been during his outburst. How it must have scared him to have found his best friend, one of the only ones he had left, on the floor possibly dying or dead.

But still, he couldn't stop himself from overworking nor change his pace and he didn't want to either. He felt the time pressure and the weight of the future almost physically pressing relentlessly down hard on him, making it difficult to even breathe sometimes.

Freud sighed.

It was just as well that he was sick otherwise a full-blown argument would have ensued between them now that the repercussions of his work habits went way beyond dark shadows under the eyes, a thinner-than-normal frame, and minor injuries from his lab and especially since he didn't regret his actions.

He'll make it up to Phantom somehow just not with a change of work ethics.

Minutes ticked by and Freud steadily started to grow bored. He hadn't thought Phantom would be gone for so long.

Glancing towards the nightstand, he noticed the novel his friend had put aside when he woke.

The title read _Les Misérables_, a classic.

He had to admit that he was in no condition to read and anything he did try to read would probably be a struggle or even make him woozier than he already was but reading was his favorite pastime and he was bored. He might as well try it out and see how it went and if his nausea tipped even slightly, he'll immediately stop.

With that decision firmly in mind, he picked up the book and flipped to the beginning to start his laboriously slow progress through the pages, rereading some sentences as many as five times and pausing often to digest what he had just read.

He was into his tenth page when he was suddenly blinking down at empty hands.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" Phantom drawled, dangling the book he had so expertly snatched, one hand on his hips and one brow raised.

Freud sighed in slight irritation at having his favorite activity filched from him so unceremoniously, sinking back into his pillows. "I'm simply reading, Phantom, not studying if that's what you were worried about."

"I doubt you can even concentrate enough to read," Phantom remarked. "You should be resting."

"I was bored," Freud defended shortly.

"Well then I guess I'll just have to keep you company," Phantom offered cheerfully.

"I'd rather you not."

Phantom faked a wounded look. "Now that's just hurtful. Is this how you treat the person taking such good care of you?" he exclaimed dramatically, putting a hand over his heart. "And I even brought you nourishment," he said, sniffling pitifully as he brought forth a tray set on the nearby desk. "I'm so underappreciated. Here."

Freud took the bowl he was offered and stared down at its contents.

"Chicken soup?" he asked blankly.

"Yes because it'll help you recover faster."

Freud shot him a skeptical look. "Phantom, you realize that chicken soup for illnesses is a folk remedy with no experimental basis to speak of whatsoev—mmph!"

Phantom smiled pleasantly as he pulled the spoon out of a glaring Freud's mouth.

"Dip the spoon in the soup and drink. It's not difficult Freud. 'Experimental basis' or not, you still have to eat something and I'd really rather you not throw up on me when I happen to bring you something that doesn't agree with you in your condition. Now, are you going to eat by yourself or am I going to have to feed you. I don't mind if I have to feed you," Phantom offered, grinning mischievously.

Freud shot him a withering look, still feeling slightly irked about having his book taken from him in the middle of reading. "No _thanks_," he declined, snatching the spoon from his hands and starting to work his way through the bowl. He was forced to stop halfway down, however.

"Not much appetite," he muttered, stomach roiling even after such a light meal.

Phantom didn't push the issue and took the bowl away from him, pressing his forehead against Freud's.

"Hmm your temperature went down a bit," he observed. He broke away and nodded in approval. "Good because you'd look ridiculous with a rag on your head sitting up like this."

"I hardly think that would be the utmost thing on my mind right now," Freud said dryly.

"That's right, it should be rest," Phantom agreed. "Which you should be doing right now."

"But—"

"Ah, ah! Get some rest or no kisses for you!"

Freud frowned up at him. "Phantom, the last thing I need are kisses from you." But nonetheless he complied and lay back down onto the bed.

"Much better," proclaimed Phantom, looking satisfied. "And now the kiss I promised!"

And without preamble, he stooped down and kissed Freud on the forehead. "Get rested and get better!"

Freud rolled his eyes at his antics but couldn't stop the small smile from creeping onto his face. "Yes, yes now go away."

Phantom chuckled under his breath as he cleaned up and placed a glass and pitcher of water on the nightstand. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

He only just managed to catch Freud's half-hearted glare directed at him as he settled in before he left the room, closing the door softly behind him and moving towards the kitchen with the empty bowl in hand. He'll have to thank his chef later for preparing this so quickly on such short notice.

He had just put the bowl and spoon into the sink to wash later when a knock sounded through the house.

Phantom froze, wondering if he should answer it.

Another knock sounded but this time, accompanied with an unfortunately familiar voice.

"Hello? Freud? Are you in?"

Phantom's eyes narrowed.

Luminous.

"Oh why did Luminous have to come today of all days?" he hissed under his breath, glaring balefully towards the front door.

The knocks didn't cease.

Why couldn't the fool take the hint that if no one had opened the door by now, it meant no one wanted him in? Still, at this rate, he's going to disturb Freud.

Sighing in resigned frustration, he stomped towards the door and yanked it open.

"Can I help you?" he asked smoothly, barely able to conceal his almost reflexive distaste towards him and instead offering him a smile too saccharine to be real.

Luminous recoiled at his sudden appearance at the door of his colleague's house but quickly recovered from his surprise and favored Phantom with a suspicious look.

"Phantom," he greeted stiffly. "May I inquire as to the whereabouts of Freud?"

"You may," Phantom retorted smartly but offered no further information.

Luminous's jaw tightened and he took a deep breath to calm himself. "Then where may he be?"

"Away," Phantom answered vaguely.

"Then why are you here?" Luminous's eyes narrowed distrustfully at him. "What are you doing in his abode?"

"Freud is a friend of mine," Phantom replied slowly, his smile full of daggers. "I have every right to be here."

"Mayhap you have done something to him."

Phantom's expression immediately darkened dangerously. "And what gives you the right to think I'd _ever_ harm Freud in any way?" he growled lowly.

"You may have joined our cause but you cannot erase who you truly are; a thief who would not think twice before backstabbing us."

Phantom gave a menacing grin. "Is that so now? And I suppose you would know all about me simply by my title. But I guess it gives you a convenient excuse to despise me for no reason so it's okay in your self-righteous little world."

Luminous bristled at the words. "It is a valid concern that has no relation with self-righteousness."

"If it is such a valid concern," Phantom said, layering his words heavily in sarcasm and rolling his eyes, "Why doesn't Freud seem so worried?"

"Because he is a good person who believes in second chances," Luminous replied, glaring harshly at him. "Something you would not hesitate to take advantage of."

Phantom instantly became outraged and looked about ready to attack the Light Mage in front of him right then and there when an authoritative voice rang through their heads.

_What is the meaning of this?_

They turned to see Afrien making his way over to them, golden eyes stern as he gazed down at the both of them.

"Luminous," Phantom began, spitting out the name as though it were poison, "was just leaving. Isn't that right, _Luminous?_"

"With all due respect, Afrien, I have no intention of leaving until I am assured that Freud and all his possessions are unharmed and accounted for respectively," Luminous declared.

Phantom gave him a look that threatened murder but Afrien cut in before he could do or say anything else.

_Rest assured, Luminous. Phantom has been given permission earlier to watch over my master's house while he is away on an errand. My master is safe and his belongings intact. I give you my word._

There was a brief pause of hesitation before Luminous grudgingly conceded. "Very well. I shall return at a later time then. Thank you for informing me, Afrien. I wish you a pleasant day." He turned back towards Phantom and nodded curtly. "Phantom," he said as a way of parting and with one last wary glance at the thief, he turned and strode away.

When Luminous was well out of sight, Phantom finally let burst. "The nerve of that man!" he cried, looking as if he itched to throw something after the Light Mage. "If it had simply been concern about theft then that would have at least been understandable but how dare he even _imply _I would harm Freud? If I wanted to hurt him, I would have done it by now and he's been given plenty of proof that Freud and I were close or has he been sleepwalking this whole time? But no, of course he would choose to ignore all that and forever paint me the bastard villain on the same level as the Black Mage!"

Phantom shimmered in his rage for a while longer before Afrien deigned to speak again.

_Master has summoned me here when he heard a commotion outside his window… and it seems a good thing too._

"Ah," Phantom acknowledged weakly, raking his fingers through his hair. "We must have disturbed him. I'll go see how he is now."

Afrien nodded and Phantom went back into the house and up the staircase to Freud's room.

"Freud?" Phantom asked tentatively as he opened the door.

"Phantom," Freud said, looking over towards the thief as he made his way over to his bedside. "What happened? Was that Luminous?"

"Well… yes."

"I see. I have forgotten we were supposed to meet today," Freud sighed, frowning.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you," Phantom apologized. His brows furrowed as a thought struck him. "But wait… Luminous was supposed to be helping you with your work isn't he? Why did I still find you collapsed on the floor from exhaustion?" he asked, sounding upset.

"Calm down, Phantom," Freud admonished. "I insisted that I carry out the bulk of the research because while Luminous is a very bright man and has been invaluable in his contributions to the Seal Stones, he has no background in the art of research. Not only that but he is unfamiliar with the complex and subtle mechanisms of how spells work whereas I've been studying the subject for years. So what we ended up doing was that he would carry out the practical applications of the various spells and seals and report back to me while I worked on the theories behind them."

Phantom looked as though he wanted to argue but stopped himself. "Fine. You just focus on recovering for now but mark my words, I'm going to try to pull you away from your work every opportunity I can," he vowed. "And if I ever find you collapsed on the floor again…"

"Fair enough," Freud acquiesced. "But I'll have you know that I won't placidly go along with whatever you have in mind. My work is too important to me to abandon for anything less than an emergency."

Phantom sighed in frustration. "You're so obstinate."

"Well of course. What did you expect? That I'd roll over for you?"

Phantom grinned. "Well no but I do hope you know you're declaring war on the world's famous Master Thief who could make anything possible."

"Anything except ordinary household chores and making a simple bowl of chicken soup," Freud teased.

"But without me bringing it to you, you would have never been able to have a taste of such delicious soup! I haven't even gotten a word of thanks for fetching it to you!" Phantom stated dramatically.

"Thank you oh mighty Master Thief Phantom for going through the laborious effort of bringing me a soup that you didn't even make yourself," Freud thanked tonelessly, rolling his eyes.

"Now was that so hard?" Phantom asked, tapping his cheek playfully.

"Excruciatingly."

Phantom shook his head, chuckling. "Alright enough of this. I'll leave you alone to give you your rest now. I'll be up later with dinner."

"Alright," Freud agreed tiredly.

And with that, Phantom left the room once again and didn't reenter for the next several hours except for the occasional check-in.

When Freud next awoke, he was standing in the middle of a barren field, the parched earth cracked and hard and the sky overhead leaden with heavy gray clouds.

He looked around himself in bewilderment.

Where was he? How did he get here?

Turning back in front of him, he spotted Phantom standing a short distance away, his back turned towards him.

He moved to reach for him but his limbs wouldn't obey.

He moved to speak but his voice refused to work.

Helpless, he could only watch as Phantom slowly turned towards him, dull purple eyes as haunted as his smile was hollow.

"I'm sorry, Freud."

_No._

"But I choose revenge after all."

_NO!_

A spear of darkness immediately whizzed down from the sky and impaled Phantom through the heart from behind in a violent spray of crimson blood.

Freud screamed.

"Freud! Freud! Wake up! Wake up! Freud!"

Freud threw open his eyes, disoriented irises darting frantically through the room before settling on a pale Phantom clutching him tightly by his arms.

Seeing him finally awake, he let out a sigh of relief and slackened his vice grip on his arms.

"Thank goodness," Phantom breathed. "I heard you scream and I thought you were dying or something." He let out a weak laugh.

Freud didn't answer, glassy eyes gazing unseeingly at the man in front of him.

Phantom felt his temperature again and frowned. "You're burning up again. Come on, you should take some medicine."

He gently eased Freud up but stopped when he noticed that Freud's hand was… trembling.

He gently reached over and wrapped his own hand around Freud's, feeling a startled twitch in his fingers as he did so.

"You're shaking," Phantom murmured concernedly, grasping his hand tightly. "What could have possibly frightened you so?"

Freud stared almost incomprehensively at him for a while before finally mumbling out, "There's no… cause in… self-destruction… If you're lost… find… me…"

"What? Freud?" Phantom asked uncertainly.

But Freud's eyes were already fluttering shut again into an uneasy, feverish sleep and Phantom sighed, easing him back onto the bed, hoping against hope that he wasn't getting worse.

Freud didn't wake again for a while.

Time melded into one another as he drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the rest of the night and most of the next several days as the fever burned and raged through his body.

He vaguely remembered Phantom feeding him something one moment but then his memories seemed to skip and Phantom would be putting an icy, wet cloth on his forehead instead and he thought he might have been singing at some point but his mind refused to focus properly, the moments slipping past him like water and eluding his grasp. One minute his room was lit with goldenrod and the next he was alone with nothing but the moonlight as company. Phantom would be entering his room in one instance but when he blinked, he would already be gone.

It was a dizzying experience that had no end, each shard of time holding both a moment and an eternity at the same time. He ached and burned and froze all at once in a tireless struggle for dominance over his body that seared and drained him in a never-ending torment. He was in a perpetual slow agony.

But at some point he didn't know when, a deep blackness seemed to surround him at long last in cool relief, the heat of his illness no longer bearing down mercilessly on him and exhausted from his fight, he slept heavily.

When he next awoke, dusk was just setting over the sky and he sat up to look dazedly out the window.

How long had he been out sick? From the looks of it, it might have been three days.

He sat staring outside for a while longer, waiting out the last remnants of his sleep as they fell away before turning his attention to the untouched card Phantom had set out to call him.

He picked it up and tossed it into the air, watching as the card formed itself into the shape of a raven that swooped towards the door and expertly slid itself underneath the crack to continue its journey.

It only took a few moments more before Phantom burst into the room, looking slightly frazzled but hopeful. Upon spotting Freud sitting up in his bed, his face broke out into a wide, relieved beam.

"Freud! You're awake!" Phantom cried, rushing forth to take Freud into a crushing hug.

"Yes, yes I'm awake now can you please let go of me? I'm not completely recovered just yet," Freud said, patting the thief on the back. "How long have I been out anyway? Three days?"

"No! A week you idiot!" Phantom cried. "I thought you were dying the whole entire time and Luminous was just about ready to knock me out by the third day! If it weren't for Afrien's intervention, he very well would have! Thank goodness Aran's away on a mission and Mercedes left about a day into your illness or else they would have gotten suspicious too and gang up against me!"

"You… never told anyone I was sick?" Freud asked, struck.

Phantom sighed and took a seat by his bedside. "No, I didn't because you have this nasty habit of keeping everything to yourself and it's made even worse because of your stupid pride thing. I didn't want to tell anyone because then you'll feel like you fell short somehow or failed or something and then you'll try even harder to hide your problems. And with the way you work yourself, that's not very good is it?"

"Ah…" Freud uttered warily, wringing the blankets in his hands. "How astute of you…"

Phantom chuckled and gently pried his fingers off the covers. "Relax, Freud. I'm not going to argue over the issue with you again because I know it's not going to get me anywhere. Instead of wasting my breath, I'll simply do whatever it takes to pry you away from your work as often as I need to; by force if necessary."

At that Freud, gasped and froze.

Phantom immediately grew alarmed. "What? What is it? Are you still unwell? Do you need—"

"No, no forget that! I'm so behind schedule with my work! I was supposed to finish up _Weneper's Principle of Time Magic_, _The Telmere Seal_, and _The Analytical Approach to Transcendents_ and start _Ambiquetes Theory of Summural Parts_ a few days ago! And… Oh… Oh no! My Saphim Crystal experiment would be ruined by now! I'll have to restart it all over from scratch! And there's still so many other things I was supposed to have finished this week! I'm so behind yet I still have so much to do! How will I ever catch up?" Freud lamented miserably.

"Well, if you have never gotten sick in the first place, you wouldn't be in this situation," Phantom told him cheerfully. "But if you really must then take a small piece at a time. If you overwork yourself again to a state like you're in now, then you'll fall even more behind."

Freud sighed. "I suppose there's nothing else to be done." He glanced over at Phantom, suddenly looking amused. "I never would have thought you'd know how to care for the ill."

"Now that's just insulting," Phantom huffed. "Did you forget that I've been taking care of myself for most of my life? I would at least know the basics of what a sick person needs and how to treat them… But of course I'd go for the occasional consultation."

He glanced at the clock. "I should get you something to eat." He cast Freud a look. "I better not catch you reading. You still need to rest a few days to make a full recovery."

"I could at least do some leisure reading to pass the time couldn't I?"

"No," Phantom denied immediately. "If I give you an inch, you'll end up taking a mile and then you'll be all annoyed when I interrupt you and I'll end up having to deal with that. I'll just keep you entertained instead for the next couple of days. Anyway, just sit tight and wait for me. I won't be gone for long."

With that, he got up to leave but hesitated by the door, turning back to Freud. "Freud?"

"Yes?"

"You might not remember this but… you said something to me once while you were feverish."

Freud blinked up at him. "Is that so?"

"Yes. You said… you said there's no cause in self-destruction and that if I get lost to find you… What do you mean by that?"

Freud paused, considering the quote.

It was obvious to him that self-destruction meant Phantom's revenge but Phantom probably didn't see it that way and most likely never would see it that way until it led him to a point of no return. If that were to ever happen… He only hoped he would be there to stop him. But telling him this now would be fruitless. Just as he was adamant about his work, so was Phantom to his revenge. As much as it worried him, he could do nothing but watch and wait. If he brought it up now, it could turn into an argument so Freud simply smiled up at him and replied. "How curious. I do wonder. But I wouldn't give it too much thought after all, I wasn't exactly fully conscious."

Phantom stared at him for a moment, attempting to decipher the truth to his words but after a moment he sighed and gave up. "Alright then. I'll be back."

He strode out of the room but poked his head back in again a few seconds later and sent him a glare. "Remember, no reading. Or else," he warned sternly before leaving once more.

And so, the next two days was spent in pleasant company as Freud rested from his sickness.

On the day he returned to work, Phantom had hovered over him so insistently that Freud finally had had enough and forcibly kicked him out by threatening to set him on fire and then proceeding to carry out his threat.

No doubt Phantom would be plotting his revenge but he'll worry about that later. Right now, he had far too much work piled up, a rather harassed-looking Luminous to contend with, and a miniature crisis in his laboratory on his hands. All this just because he took a short week off for sick leave. Freud was never going to get sick _ever again_.

* * *

So uh… you guys want to know the name of this sickness? Well… I would like to know too :'D It's made up for the sake of the story so please run along with it ;_;

Hope you enjoyed it!


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